


On Wings

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Gen, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a Temeraire AU, but I've only read the first book so if dragon &c canon changed in later books this is a jossed AU. *hands* (Note: please do not spoil me for later books.) Written in 2009, it's friendship gen, but reading it back I could see McKay/Sheppard shippers reading OTP into it. Feel free to! Authorial intent is not magic, &c.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Wings

The United States Aerial Corps got word that Captain Sumner was KIA, and two days later Lieutenant John Sheppard was called into General O’Neill’s office straight out of lunch.

“Sir?” he enquired, muscles tensed.

“At ease,” O’Neill waved a hand at him. Sheppard relaxed very slightly. “You heard about Captain Sumner, I take it?”

“Yes, sir. It was a real tragedy, sir.” Sheppard stared straight ahead, willing his head not to tilt. Confusion should not be a part of his posture. He waited.

“You’ve been Captain Carter’s first lieutenant for five years, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She speaks very highly of you.” O’Neill didn’t pause, so for a second Sheppard was still suppressing a smug smile when he heard, “I think it’s time you took your own command.”

“But — sir, I was assigned an egg a year ago. It probably won’t hatch for another two years, but —”

“Your egg has been reassigned to Captain Lorne, Lieutenant. You’ve had experience with a Regal Copper before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Sheppard’s head was starting to spin. He blinked; it helped a little. “Sir, may I ask what this is about?”

O’Neill raised an eyebrow. “I guess you’re going to. Captain Sumner’s Regal needs a new handler. You’re the best we’ve got. Congratulations, Captain Sheppard, you have a command.”

Sheppard didn’t react for a minute. He felt numb. At last he opened his mouth, but instead of _Thank you, sir_ , what came out was, “ _McKay_? I get saddled with McKay?”

O’Neill’s mouth twitched. “You do not get saddled with, Captain. You get honoured by the assignment to.”

Sheppard swallowed what felt like two hundred words crowding up his throat. “Yes, sir,” he said, and saluted.

“All right, all right, dismissed.” O’Neill sat back in his chair, and Sheppard had just about convinced himself not to run as he left when O’Neill added, “Now go see your dragon.”

Sheppard managed to nod, and walked smartly out.

=^=

McKay was in a pen, at the far end of the first field; Sheppard passed Carter and her crew, O’Neill’s Chequered Nettle Teal’c, Cam the fledgling Winchester who’d hatched two months before, and finally got to the Regal Copper pen. The whole walk felt like an eternity, and McKay watched him approach.

“Who are you?” he asked. Sheppard almost jumped; McKay had a Canadian accent, of all things. Must have hatched there.

“I’m your new rider,” he answered. McKay eyed him. It was unnerving.

“Oh. I supposed I’d be assigned one, Sumner didn’t have any children so it’d have to cut the bloodline. Of course, he was a bloodline jump after Hammond, so it’s not like that was observed in the first place.”

Sheppard had no idea what to say. He’d exchanged a few words with the dragons he’d served on as crewman, but the handler had spoken most to them, and McKay seemed to expect conversation of some kind. How the hell was he supposed to talk to a _dragon_?

“Oh great, a simpleton,” McKay sighed. “Do you have a name, at least, or shall I just call you moron?”

“You do know that’s offensive to the mentally ill, right?” Sheppard stage whispered at him.

McKay rolled his eyes. “Fine. How’s idiot?”

“Nope.”

“Half-wit?”

“Nope.”

“Stupid.”

Sheppard shook his head. “You’re treading on dangerous ground with simpleton, my friend.” He patted McKay’s nose, and nearly got gouged by the very large and very sharp horn on it as McKay jerked away. “Hey, watch it!”

“Sorry. Just — just don’t touch me, whoever you are.”

“My name’s Sheppard. Captain John Sheppard.” It hit him as the words left his mouth: he’d just been _promoted_.

“Well, Captain John Sheppard, I don’t really go for the whole contact thing. Or the social thing. I’ll work with you like I did with Sumner, but we’re not friends and we’re not going to be, is that clear?”

Sheppard shrugged. “Fine by me. I’ll just go grab myself some dessert, I didn’t get to finish lunch.”

McKay’s ears, if it’s possible, pricked up. “Ooh, did you say lunch?”

Sheppard rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have fields back there? Go hunt.”

“I don’t need your _permission_ ,” McKay snorted. “Anyway, I prefer fish. We’re pretty far inland here.”

“So? You make do with — what’s out there, cows?”

McKay’s mouth curled up. “Are the fields sprayed with pesticides? Because you know that gets into the meat, right? It makes me sick, fish don’t.”

“What, so all the pollution in the sea is just fine, but when it comes to livestock you go organic?” Sheppard rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have ground crew?”

“I haven’t been assigned anybody yet.”

“Well, I’ll go pick out some cadets for you, how’s that?” Sheppard let the sarcastic smile fall and turned smartly on his heel.

“Sheppard —” McKay sounded smaller, suddenly, maybe even human-sized. Sheppard turned back; McKay was curling, head on his forelegs, obviously miserable. “I’m tired and I’m hungry and I’m cold and I’m dirty and I can’t even go home.” He closed his eyes.

Sheppard stepped forward, remembering about the touching thing seconds after his palm met scales. McKay just leaned into it. “I’ll go get you some fish.”

“Thanks,” McKay said, in a hoarse whisper. Sheppard patted just under his nose and left.

=^=

“Hey.” Carter clapped him on the shoulder in the mess hall. “Congratulations, Captain, it’s about time you got your own dragon.”

“Thanks.” Sheppard shifted his tray to make room for her to sit down.

Carter sat, raised a fork to her mouth, and stopped. “So how come you look like someone just kicked your puppy?”

“I don’t look like someone just kicked my puppy.” Suddenly, he couldn’t get comfortable.

“Fine. You don’t.” She ate her forkful of food, swallowed. “I got orders a half hour ago, we’re needed in a formation.”

“Both of us? Where?”

Carter picked up her carton of juice. “Iraq.”

=^=

“I don’t want to go back there.” McKay was dripping, having just landed. Sheppard guessed he’d washed himself in the lake after dinner, or maybe there were fish there he hadn’t known about. “Isn’t there anywhere else we could go? I’m sure your country is fighting a dozen wars at once, you always seem to be.”

“Our orders say Iraq, so that’s where we’re going. What, did it get too hot out there for you?”

“No. It’s where Sumner died, is all, and I’d really rather not relive that every time I take off, if you don’t mind.”

Sheppard stopped. He’d been leaning against the fence, watching droplets shake off the black spikes along McKay’s jaw as he talked; now Sheppard straightened up. “Oh.” He paused. “You know, you’re not like any dragon I’ve ever met. Zelenka’s sweet and Teal’c doesn’t talk much and I figured it was their breeds, but I was signal-ensign on a Regal Copper once and he was all …” He gestured with his hands to signal _big, aggressive_.

“Yes, well, I was very close to my mother.” McKay’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and for a second Sheppard thought he heard it; then he remembered it was just water.

“We do have to go,” Sheppard said after a few minutes of quiet dripping and the faint and distant sounds of one or two dragons hunting.

“I know. Those precious orders of yours.” McKay curled around his tail and rested his head on the part of his leg not covered with a line of spines. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow. We’re flying to the UK first, we’ll meet the rest of the formation. There’s some big to-do, top secret, we’ll know when we get there. My guess is, the high-ups want a tactical advantage.”

There was a pause. “I’m sorry, is that it? I tuned you out after you gave me the information I asked for.” McKay curled his head further inwards. Sheppard talked himself out of throwing something at him.

“See you tomorrow, McKay.” He turned on his heel, not waiting for an answer.

Breakfast was mostly bleary and all coffee, and Sheppard headed out to find McKay just landing in his pen. “Is it time already?” he asked. The ground crew hurried forward to fasten on the travel harness.

“Ford,” Sheppard turned to his first lieutenant, “is the crew ready?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, obviously stifling a yawn.

“All right,” he turned to address his air crew, “you all know what to do. I’ve worked with you before, so remember — obey orders, do your jobs, and everybody gets to go home happy. Transport flight today and tomorrow, training after that, and we don’t know how long we’ll be gone. I hope you packed light.” He turned to check on the progress of the rigging; the harness was on, ropes and rigging being pulled into place. McKay’s scales glistened, still damp. “Ten minutes, people.”

“You’re a very fine and inspiring military leader,” McKay observed, the driest thing about him at that second.

“Shut up and fly straight when we’re up there,” Sheppard shot back. He looked over to see how Zelenka was doing; his rigging was complete and his crew climbing aboard. Carter sat at the base of his neck, leaning forward and patting his scales reassuringly. Sheppard turned away.

He climbed up first, when the rigging was ready. Settling in his seat, he leaned forward and said, “Can you hear me all right?”

“Loud and clear,” McKay answered. “How much heavier do you think you’re all going to get?”

“A lot.” Sheppard felt a smirk slide in. McKay sighed.

Zelenka rose into the air a minute before McKay, and Sheppard heard the beat of wings behind them; turning, he saw Teal’c, and faced forward again. “Guess we’re the cavalry.”

“Well this is a tactical advantage, isn’t it? I’d have thought that involves throwing as many dragons as you have at the problem, it’s what passes for tactics around here.”

Ignoring the dig, Sheppard just leaned forward. He had to shout, now they were starting to pick up speed, but the smirk was still audible: “Thought you tuned me out when I said that.”

“Shut up, I’m flying,” was all McKay said, beating his wings harder. Sheppard sat back, turning in his seat to make sure the crew were all doing their jobs okay.

The sun came out, McKay’s scales shining scarlet, his spinal row of spikes gleaming darkly in contrast. Behind them, Teal’c glinted violet and white, a perfect balance of too bright and soothing. Sheppard turned to see Zelenka, deep blue standing out against the ground below, framed in Sheppard’s vision by the spikes either side of McKay’s head. Relaxing, Sheppard settled with his back against the curve of McKay’s neck, ankles crossed, legs stretched out, hands folded in his lap. “Everything all right back there?” he called to Ford.

“Yes sir,” came the reply, and Sheppard decided he could afford to nap a little. The sun was bright this high up, so he took sunglasses from his pocket and slipped them on, closing his eyes.

“Wake me if there’s any problems,” he said to Ford, heard the affirmative, and settled comfortably.

He was woken by the wind, and yells above it —

“Can you believe this? He just sleeps and sleeps, and here I am doing the actual _work_.”

“He’s the captain, McKay, there’s not really much for him to do right now.”

“Yes, well don’t you think _I_ want a nap at this point? I’m the one flying, here! You know, strenuous physical exertion? You’d think I’d at least get a break once in a while.”

“Not if we want to make the coast by tonight. Do you really want to take an entire day longer to fly there?”

McKay didn’t answer for a second. “I guess not.”

“Exactly.” Ford moved away, seeming to think the conversation was over.

“It’s not like they can do without me,” McKay concluded, and at _that_ Sheppard let out an involuntary snort.

“You’re awake, sir,” Ford observed.

“Yeah, no thanks to the dragon’s yammering.”

“Oh, sorry to keep you up, I’ll be quieter next time,” McKay snapped.

“You know,” Sheppard said conversationally to Ford, “I’m starting to wonder if he thinks he’s a Longwing.”

“Maybe he was a Sharpspitter in a past life, sir,” Ford grinned, very obviously holding in laughter.

“Oh yes that’s very funny, let’s all mock the incredibly large dragon who is the only thing between you and a very long plummet to your certain death,” McKay snarled.

Sheppard raised an eyebrow at Ford. “My bad. Don’t poke the cranky dragon, folks,” he called to the rest of the crew.

“Good, now if you all can just shut up, I can concentrate on flying in a direction designed to actually get us there. I assume that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” Sheppard patted his neck, ignoring the jerking movement it elicited, “that’s exactly what we want.”

“I am surrounded by idiots,” McKay muttered, the sound snatched by the wind and dumped right into Sheppard’s ears. He grinned.

“Aw shucks, you’re just saying that.” He smirked as McKay spluttered.

“Just, just shut up, all of you. The faster I go, the faster this is over.”

“Amen to that.” Sheppard settled with his back to McKay’s neck again. He’d never wished they could be grounded indefinitely before, but McKay was actually sucking the fun out of flying, something Sheppard had thought nothing could ever do, and he couldn’t ask for a transfer to another crew. He was McKay’s _rider_.

The thought depressed him, so he decided to nap again.

=^=

It took two days to fly to the base in the Scottish mountains, and McKay was more cranky than ever when they landed. He waited for the ground crew to take his harness off and then rose abruptly into the air again.

“Is he all right?” one of the crew asked. At least, it sounded like that; the kid had a strong accent. Sheppard shrugged.

“He’s probably gone to fish, I saw a couple huge lakes on the way.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “You mean the lochs?”

“Yeah, those. They got fish, right?” A nod. “He likes fish.”

“Oh. Um. I’ll — I’d better put this lot away.”

“Thanks, you do that.” Sheppard looked around, but before he could ask Ford if he knew where they should go now, O’Neill stepped up behind him. “Good flight, sir?” Sheppard asked.

“Yes. Thank you. How are you getting on with McKay?”

“Er, good. We’re good, sir.” He was a terrible liar sometimes, and winced at how unconvincing it sounded. O’Neill merely nodded.

“Good. See if you can get that estimate to ‘great’, hey?”

“Yes sir.” Sheppard saluted, and Carter came jogging up.

“I’m going for dinner, sir,” she beamed at O’Neill, “you coming?”

”Sure.” O’Neill glanced at Sheppard. “Follow us, Captain.”

Sheppard saluted, for want of something better to do. He followed them inside what looked like a huge castle, and found it was cold, draughty, and had corridors made almost entirely of twists and turns. He started building a map in his head of what was where, so he had a hope of ever getting out again. Behind him, Ford kept muttering things under his breath; Sheppard caught the words _holy shit it’s cold_ and _how old is this damn place?_

The third winding corridor brought them to a massive room filled with long tables, wooden benches running the length of them. Three fires roared in grates along one wall, radiators interspersed here and there. “It’s a listed building,” a guy came up to them, hand outstretched to shake. He had a different accent, maybe English. “Captains, I am Dr Peter Grodin, head of communications on this base.”

“General Jack O’Neill, this is Captain Samantha Carter, Captain John Sheppard, and … who is this?” O’Neill gestured to Ford.

“That’s Lieutenant Ford, sir, he’s on my crew.”

“Captains only at the top table, I’m afraid,” Dr Grodin said. “Follow me, please.”

Sheppard shrugged helplessly. “See you later,” he said, and Ford slunk away to the other tables.

“Right,” Dr Grodin brought his hands together when they’d sat down at a much smaller table, “since we’re pressed for time, the tactical meeting will have to be during dinner. It’s self-service, through the hatch,” he pointed at the wall behind Sheppard, “and once everyone’s served we should get started with the introductions.”

Sheppard grabbed himself a plateful of some sort of meat pie and vegetables steeped in gravy, and brought it back to the table with a bottle of beer. He ate, waiting while the other captains piled up plates and came back to sit down, and he was half way through his meal when the bald guy sitting at the head of the table cleared his throat and said, “Now we’re all here, let’s begin. I’m Colonel Steven Caldwell, on Deadalus, he’s a Yellow Reaper.” Caldwell waved his fork to his left, and the woman sitting on that side of him swallowed her mouthful so she could speak.

“Captain Teyla Emmagan, on Ronon, he’s a Longwing.” Sheppard’s eyebrows went up.

“Captain Elizabeth Weir, on Atlantis, she’s a Malachite Reaper.”

“Captain Samantha Carter, on Zelenka, he’s a Longwing.”

“General Jack O’Neill, on Teal’c, he’s a Chequered Nettle.”

“Captain John Sheppard, on McKay, he’s a Regal Copper.”

“Captain Alicia Vega, on Chuck, he’s a Yellow Reaper.”

“Captain Martin Stackhouse, on Pegasus, she’s a Grey Copper.”

Sheppard tried to keep up with all the introductions, but gave up most of the way through. He did notice they’d have two Anglewings in the formation, and a breed he’d never heard of before, Chequered Copper. He guessed they’d been cross-breeding again.

“Gentlemen,” Caldwell said once everybody had introduced themselves. Not many still had food on their plates. “Ladies. We have been called here to begin training a two-Longwing formation with an attacking front and defensive back.”

Sheppard tried to fit all the dragons in. “Will the sides be bombing, sir?” he asked.

Caldwell’s head snapped to him. “Yes, Captain. Precision will be a part of the training, to avoid the bombs coming into contact with the Longwings’ acid and detonating in mid-air.”

Plates were cleared, laptops brought onto the table, and 3-D models of each dragon in place displayed on the screen. Sheppard concentrated on the tiny digital Regal Copper, burning his flight patterns into his eyes, repeating them over and over in his head while the rest of the conversation dissolved into white noise.

“Sheppard!” cut through at last. Caldwell was glaring at him. “Captain Sheppard, I’d appreciate your full attention at this briefing.”

“Sorry, sir. I was just trying to memorise my moves.”

“This your first time in formation?” Caldwell asked, voice sharp.

Sheppard nodded. “Yes sir. Only just got assigned my dragon, sir.”

Caldwell closed his eyes as if praying for patience. “Here’s a tip, Captain: learn fast. You have to be aware of your moves, but also of everybody else’s, or the formation is useless. We all have to work as a _team_ , do you understand me?”

Sheppard fought very hard to keep his voice even. “Yes, sir, I understand.”

“Good. Now pay attention. I’ll go over this _again_.” He clicked a few times on the laptop’s touch pad, and the program started afresh.

Sheppard left the briefing feeling like his head might explode. O’Neill caught him practically by the arm in the corridor outside. “Where are you going, Captain?”

“To bed, sir. I’m pretty tired.”

“Oh no no no, you’re not. See, after dinner, you go see how your dragon’s doing. Spend some time with him. That sort of a thing.” O’Neill smiled, in that way Sheppard would have found comforting if it were aimed at anybody else.

“But sir —”

“I can make it an order, if you’d like.” The smile turned false. Sheppard snapped to attention.

“Yes sir. I’ll go … check on McKay.”

O’Neill nodded in one sharp movement. “Teal’c likes it when I read to him. I suggest you find a book tomorrow.”

Sheppard felt a sensation much like his heart sinking into his boots. “Yes, sir.”

It was unbelievably cold outside, and he jogged over to the clearing O’Neill was heading for. McKay wasn’t there, so Sheppard jogged further on, leaving O’Neill behind with Teal’c; as he passed, Sheppard saw O’Neill take a book from his pocket and settle in the crook of Teal’c’s foreleg.

McKay was two clearings over, on his own. The other dragons were curled up two to a clearing; Sheppard greeted him with, “You really don’t do the social thing, do you?”

“What? Oh. No, I’m a genius, the others are not even close to my standard of intelligence.” He paused, as Sheppard looked at him with one raised eyebrow and a head tilt. “They’re all morons,” McKay clarified, rolling his eyes.

There was a small pile of blankets and padded jackets on the ground. Sheppard picked up a jacket, pulled it on and grinned. “I know. I just wanted to mess with you.”

“Do you ever do anything else?” McKay snapped, folding his tail under himself. “What are you here for anyway, mental torture for your own amusement?”

“No, I’m here under orders.” Sheppard could feel himself getting prickly. He hated being prickly. “But if it’s so horrible for you to talk to me, I’ll leave.”

“No — no, it’s all right. Just stop doing that thing,” he waved a foot, talons blending into the woods in the dim light.

“What thing?”

McKay fixed him with a glare. He was a fifty-ton blood-red dragon covered in black spikes with an overall length a fifth the size of a football stadium and a sarcasm problem, so the glare was quite an impressive one. “That thing where you’re a jackass,” he said.

Sheppard shifted. “You started it.”

“How very mature for a Captain of the Aerial Corps. They teach you that in cadet school?”

“What the hell is your _problem_?” Sheppard snapped. He wasn’t exactly cold, with the jacket on, but neither was he warm and _neither_ did he actually want to be there.

“ _My_ problem? My problem is that I’m forced to fly in some stupid war for you stupid humans and I have no say in who actually calls the shots for what happens to me, and even when I’m assigned some stupid _jerk_ who doesn’t even like me I can’t stop him getting killed, _that’s_ my fucking problem.”

Sheppard’s voice came out quiet. “Combat is tough.” He paused. “What happened?”

“We got attacked, I had a side wound. Fucking Kazilik ripped off the harnessing, I lost all my crew. Tried to catch some of them, tried to — Sumner — but I couldn’t, and our whole formation was done for. They sent me back to Cheyenne and I didn’t even get a fucking break and now I have to go back there.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t even want to be there. I hate formation flying.”

“Why don’t you retire? I’m sure they need Regals in the breeding grounds.”

McKay turned away and coughed slightly. “I uh, I tried that.”

“Wait, you did? Why the hell’d you _leave_?”

McKay looked at him sharply. “Are you kidding me? To be forced to — I mean, they _watch_ — I got performance anxiety.”

“None of the lady dragons do it for you, huh?” Sheppard nudged him, grinning, but McKay just shifted. “You could have asked them not to watch, I’m sure they just do that to make sure the breeding goes okay. Nobody’s gonna force you to do something you don’t want to do, McKay.”

“I fight, don’t I?” he pointed out. Sheppard shrugged. “Look, I was given a choice, either stay in the breeding grounds and _perform_ , or go back to combat. Then this stupid war started and they needed me anyway so I didn’t end up having much of a choice.”

“Well. Breeding’s loss is my gain.” He tried a charming smile; McKay didn’t seem all that won by it.

“What? I thought you hated me.”

Sheppard blinked. “ _What_? No, I don’t hate you. Look. We got off on the wrong foot, why don’t we start over?” He held a hand out. “I’m John Sheppard, Captain of the United States Aerial Corps.”

“McKay,” and he nudged the palm of Sheppard’s hand with the flat of several talons. “Uh, dragon.”

“I can see that.” Sheppard eyed the long horn protruding from the top of McKay’s nose. “You ever poked yourself in the eye with that thing?”

“What? No. Well, once, right after it grew. I just wasn’t used to it yet.”

Sheppard leaned in conspiratorially, then stage whispered, “Are you telling me you’re not a klutz?”

McKay rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Sheppard.”

“There!” Sheppard smirked. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

McKay huffed, breath wheeling out, visible in the snapping air. Sheppard shivered. “Oh, are you cold?” McKay asked, rearranging himself to leave his foreleg bent. “It’d be warmer,” he tilted his head towards it.

Sheppard gaped for a second, then climbed up over McKay’s leg and settled into the knee of it. “Oh, this _is_ good and warm. I really should have brought a book.”

“A book?” McKay looked wistful. “General Hammond read to me once, when I pestered him enough.”

“I’ll get something tomorrow,” Sheppard promised.

“Ooh, see if you can get something on quantum physics,” McKay brightened.

“Uh, wouldn’t it be better if I read something to you that _didn’t_ send me to sleep?”

McKay snorted out a sigh. “I guess so.”

“You’re getting Star Trek novels and you will _like them_ ,” Sheppard pointed at him emphatically. McKay just rolled his eyes.

“You know, it’s weird,” he said after a minute or two of silence. “I usually get tough types, you know, the kind of soldier who wants the biggest dragon outside of Asia. I don’t get newbies.”

“Yeah, well, my egg was an Anglewing, so it was pretty much a surprise for me too.”

“You had an egg?” McKay blinked.

“Yeah. Got reassigned when I got you, it won’t hatch for another couple years.”

“Oh.” McKay thought for a minute. “Wow, they must — it must be worse back there than I thought. I mean, if they’re assigning someone like me to someone like you, it has to be —”

“Necessity,” Sheppard finished for him. “Shit, I think you’re right. I have no experience being a rider, I’ve only been yours a few days, and already we’re here to start training for combat. Fuck, things must be _bad_.”

“We were stretched thin,” McKay nodded, deep in thought. “I hope we haven’t lost anyone else.”

They were quiet for a minute. Eyes heavy, Sheppard yawned.

“Oh, are you tired? I suppose it is getting late.” McKay sounded disappointed.

Sheppard weighed up his options, and smiled. “I really don’t want to walk all the way back to the castle, not while it’s _this_ cold. All right if I stay here tonight?”

McKay made a strange sort of purring sound. “No, that’s, that’s fine,” he said, sounding like he was trying not to sound pleased. “Here, let me,” and he moved his leg a little closer to his body. “Is that warmer?”

“That’s _great_ , yeah.” Sheppard settled closer. The scales were smooth, and McKay brought his wing around for more cover.

“I’m uh, my head goes here,” he laid his head on his foreleg, neck curling around where Sheppard was, “is that okay?”

“It’s fine.” Sheppard yawned again, eyes closing involuntarily.

“Good.” McKay settled, breath puffing out in the night air.

Sheppard curled closer. Warm, comfortable, and entirely safe, he fell asleep to the sound of McKay’s breathing.  



End file.
